Honk Honk, My Darling: A Rex Koko, Private Clown Mystery!

The literary event of 2011 is here! You’ve been waiting patiently, wondering whether VS Naipaul and Paul Theroux have really buried the hatchet, whether we’ll ever have villains as long lasting and nattily dressed as the Nazis, and why there’s no Nobel Prize for Country Music so Lyle Lovett can win the first. You’ve been waiting for the latest trend, after chick lit, dick lit, mick lit, heimlich lit, flea-and-tick lit, and New Brunswick lit.

Well, that new trend is now launched: Schtick lit.

Or more specifically, Clown Noir.

Honk Honk, My Darling: A Rex Koko, Private Clown Mystery is now available as an e-book for all platforms, laptops, tablets, smart phones, and metal head plates. You can buy it from Amazon, and for any others, you can check it out conveniently at Smashwords.com. (You can also go straight to B&N, iTunes, the Sony Store, and others.)

The action is captured brilliantly in this synopsis from Amazon (written by me, of course):

In Top Town, a ghetto full of washed-up circus lifers in the shadow of a big city, Rex Koko is a pariah. Yet this clown’s brand of chaos helps him solve the most heinous crimes, as he tries to earn personal redemption. In “Honk Honk, My Darling”, Rex is hired by an aging, arrogant trapeze star to bring back his wayward wife. Every time Rex comes close to finding her, however, other aerialists come to gruesome and spectacular ends. Is Addie Carlozo a “black widow”? Is Rex really cursed with bad luck? Why is he being followed by those red-headed roustabout bastards, the Redd Brothers? And will “circus justice” intervene before the police do? Revenge, corruption and murder headline the bill in Top Town, where life comes 3 balls for a nickel. Babes, bullets, banana peels! As the poet said, “Damn everything, but the circus!”

Who could resist such adventure! What red-blooded reader could turn away from such a spectacle!

But wait, there’s more!

I’ll also be recording podcasts for every chapter in the book, and release them bi-weekly throughout the end of the year. Complete with music, sound effects, and fake advertisers, the podcast will feature me doing more than 20 magnificent characters, including midget detective Pinky Piscopink, cooch show owner Lotta Mudflaps, Mayor Eugene X. Brody, and of course, the Redd Brothers. These can be found on the Rex Koko website, as well as at Liberated Syndication. Here’s Episode 1 to get you hooked, brought to you by the fine folks at the Suddsy Corporation:

All this and more is contained at the new Rex Koko website, http://rexkoko.com. That will be the place for news and updates, merchandise, and everything else. You can even follow Rex on Twitter, if you’re the wired type of person who needs updates from fictional characters (I should talk–I follow The Real Deadpool, DrunkHulk and Jane Wheel). Look for RexKoko4Hire in the twitterlands.

For all the tree-haters out there, I hope to have paperback copies available by the end of the summer.

Thanks to all my readers for their support through the years. I hope they enjoy reading about Rex Koko as much as I’ve enjoyed writing about him through the years.

A Man of Many Hats (And I Don’t Mean I’m an Improv Troupe)

Man, there are so many little details about getting a book finished and out, it’s no wonder my former publisher seemed incompetent.

On the other hand, they had a few more guys on staff who didn’t have to relearn the wheel every time, like I’m doing.

Honk Honk, My Darling: A Rex Koko, Private Clown Mystery is barreling down the track of e-publishment. It’s pretty exciting, and might even get here sooner if I weren’t such a doofus and actually read all the instructions, manuals and tutorials that are supposed to help me get it out there.

But barreling it is, thanks to the work of Airan Wright, who did the cover art (and also redesigned my webpages here). I don’t want to put the cover art up yet, but believe me, it is knockout. Or as my friend Jon Eig emailed, “Totally Kickass!” When Airan and I got together last month to talk about the cover of this and its sequel, The Wet Nose of Danger, it took us literally three minutes to agree on a look, feel and color palette. Fonts? Layout? Graphic elements? Check, check, check. Waitress, please, another zinzer torte!

So at least the look will be handled by professionals. The coding for Kindle and its brethren is going a little smoother, too. Honk Honk will be the fifth book I’ve formatted (did one for a friend gratis, though it may have been a little rudimentary). I haven’t really dug deep into coding, but it appears that’s not all that necessary for a straight-ahead fiction book. My copy editing skills from days gone by have come in handy (so has the OCD). My formats might be changed and improved in the future, since uploading new versions is really a snap. Doing it frequently would be a bad idea, though, if I want to keep readers happy.

In addition to this, I’m recording and editing the audiobook podcast for Honk Honk. Audacity is really a great program for it: Very intuitive, easy to undo mistakes and miscues, easy to save files. It DID crash on me when I tried to copy and insert a very big chunk of dialog I had been pasting together. But it wasn’t a catastrophic loss, and I learned (again) the value of saving files. The first episodes will be available shortly. It’s taking longer than I thought, but I’m doing 16 characters in all, which I’ve been editing together from separate audio tracks.

Now, the only things I have to figure out are how to set up merch from Cafe Press, how to promote the books online and arrange book reviews, how to create postcards for it, how to get physical copies made, and how to use social media to better promote me and my brand.

Well, I guess that’s what the afternoon is for.

Well, This is Nice to Receive!

Not much interesting material comes in the regular mail these days. And I’m sure you’re all familiar with the solicitations that are produced by machines that make it appear the envelope has been hand-written.

So imagine how I felt when I received a small envelope last Friday, postmarked from Oakland, CA, a city in which I don’t know anyone. And imagine how I felt when I opened it and found this inside:

Yep, that’s right, Michael Chabon thinks BARDBALL is “very cool”! He’s one of my favorite writers in the entire civilized world, and he took a moment to write — IN PEN! — that he thought our little baseball poetry blog is very cool. If you haven’t read his Pulitzer-Prize-winning novel, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, then you are depriving yourself of a massive treat. I also enjoyed the hell out of The Yiddish Policemen’s Union, Summerland, and Maps & Legends.

I mailed him a copy of the 2010 Bardball chapbook in the spring, with no greater intention than thinking he might enjoy it. And spank my ass and call me Bieber, but he did! This is going up on the wall, next to my fan letters from Ernie Harwell and a certain ex-president who will not be named but did get impeached.

After all, I can’t namedrop ALL DAY! He he he!!

How to Torture an Indecisive Tightwad

So, this whole self-publishing thing has its ups and downs. For each big plus, there’s usually a negative (especially for someone with 20/20 hindsight like me).

It’s exhilarating to be able to supply books directly to readers, and to receive posts and emails and reviews from them. At the same time, it’s a drag not to have stronger relationships with the bookstores and the people who own them, at least for the projects in my foreseeable future. There’s no better place in the world than a good bookstore, and no nicer people you will ever meet. I hope this is not a permanent estrangement.

It’s also a drag not to have a stronger connection with the NY publishing houses now, though frankly, I’ve never had a good long-term relationship with any of them. There is nothing quite like having a trip to NY underwritten by someone else, when all you have to do is be pleasant and eloquent and funny. But that only lasts, of course, as long as they are making money off your writing. It’s been a long time since they’ve bought what I was selling, so it’s a godsend that e-publishing has developed at this time.

One of the aspects of self-publishing that is both a joy and a drag is that all the decisions have to funnel through one wishy-washy bozo: me. Making decisions will excite the entrepreneurial side of me, but sometimes that side is having an off day, and the creative side of me will start to whine, “Aw geez, I just had to write three pages of copy — I’m tired!” Decision-making is a muscle strengthened through use, but sometimes I easily sprain it.

One such decision involves publishing Politically Correct Bedtime Stories in the UK. While it’s been out of print in America since, maybe, 1998, it’s been in print in Britain for more than 15 years. The reason is that my publisher there, Ernest Hecht of Souvenir Press, is a one-man dynamo, raconteur, and all-around savvy character. His firm’s publishing list is interesting and varied, and he keeps my sales up with subtle but steady promotion and mentions in the press. He’s what every publisher should be. He says his only obligation to his writers is to stay in business. I like that directness. It’s worked so far.

So we talked a couple months ago about the UK rights for the e-book edition of PCBS. We didn’t agree on who really owned them, but long story short, I decided to grant Ernest the rights for two years, with a 50% royalty. My negotiation skills, like my decision-making skills, come and go with the tides, but we were both happy with this arrangement.

Ernest is also planning to release a 15th anniversary edition of PCBS, for which I wrote a new story: The real, honest-to-Jah version of “The Duckling That Was Judged On Its Personal Merits and Not On Its Physical Appearance.” (You can find it in the US e-book right now.) I’m looking forward to seeing how it does, and I’m grateful for his faith in me and my book.

But the hardest decision came just a couple weeks ago. I’ve been selling the e-book worldwide (Hi Turks and Caicos!!) through Amazon since mid-November. All that time, Amazon UK sold three times as many (and sometimes four times as many) copies of PCBS as Amazon elsewhere! It was shocking, but the only explanation could be that there’s still a hard copy in the stores. One is driving sales of the other. This made me further realize that a deal with Ernest was a worthwhile venture (at least it will be if he keeps the e-book price down).

Our agreement forced me to do something that went against my nature. A couple of weeks ago, I had to pull the plug on my version for sale in the UK. I had been putting off doing it because of the sales, but I had signed the contract long before that and said I was going to take it down. Pulled the plug on a moneymaker. Ugh. I still think the deal was the best for the long run (or at least a two-year run), but it wasn’t pleasant to do.

Now you know why I didn’t become a brain surgeon or a spy: my decision-making capabilities are sometimes limited to answering the question, “Should this character be holding a sandwich or a banana when he enters the scene?”

Oops. Now I’ll spend the rest of the morning sorting THAT out!

New Package! Same Great Taste!

So it’s 14 months into the new decade, so I thought it was high time to do a little sprucing up with the website. I can’t speak for everyone, but I was getting tired of seeing the three-year-old book Recut Madness trumpeted as the “New Book” at various parts of the site. There isn’t much new copy, but the container is New And Improved! and it should let me update stuff a little more quickly than the old battleship.

I kept the color scheme more out of habit than anything else. I have nothing against caramel color, but I don’t know why the designer 8 years ago decided to use it. But thankfully, my new designer — Airan Wright over at From Concept to Completion — made it a little more exciting. The reversing of the colors in my portrait makes me feel like I’m at the Fillmore around 1969, waiting for Blue Cheer and the Moby Grape to come on. Right on!

Now the website should look a little better on people’s iPhones and all that jazz. I hope so. We’ll also be launching a Rex Koko website VERY soon. Airan’s got his designs in place, and all the special features are being created. We’re just waiting for the cover art of the e-book to be finished. When did that start? Don’t ask. I’m an impatient yet unforceful person, so I’ve just had to bite my tongue for a while as things limped along. That should be coming to an end pretty soon.

My New Yorker Captions are Unprintable

Am I the only one who hates The New Yorker caption contest?

Every Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday or Friday (with luck), the week’s issue of The New Yorker gets shoved into our mailbox. And when my kids come home, the first thing they’ll turn to when they see the mag is the back page.

There, for the uninitiated, is the Cartoon Caption Contest page. Which I loathe like little else.

I don’t know why it is. Maybe it’s the faux populism that the contest seems to exude. Here’s The New Yorker, letting all of its readers decide what the high-larious caption to the high-concept panel ought to be. It’s almost like being at the Algonquin Round Table — but more akin to yelling punchlines at George Kauffman from the next table.

In a more desperate way, the nightly TV newscast lets viewers send in pictures of cloud formations, and twitter/text their votes about whether taxes are bad or the home team is unbeatable. It’s the dialog that all established media now think will make them indispensable to people’s lives. The only problem is, most viewers can’t take a memorable picture, and most readers can’t write a caption.

Each week, a couple thousand captions are mailed in. Almost without fail, of the three finalists, one caption will be an execrable pun, one will be a play on words that takes three extra miles to get to its point (which wasn’t funny to start with), and one caption has close to the right tone — dry, multiple-layered, au courant but not cliché, and somewhat Gotham-y. By Gotham-y, I mean that it has to do with a stiff upper lip in the face of decay or danger or failure, or a smart-alecky retort that tries to wrangle the absurd to a mundane level. Anything that might refer to a shopping mall, fast food, an open space, a highway without gridlock, or Bass Pro Shops is never going to make it to the winner’s circle.

I’ve read that each of the cartoons used for the contest had already been submitted to the magazine by the cartoonist with a real caption. A caption they actually worked on and shaped with the writer’s innate skill of timing and economy. I’d really would like to know what that caption was. Whatever entries from readers are published might be close, or might be completely off-target, but I’ll never know exactly what the original caption was, and that makes me feel like I missed something. Maybe that makes me a snob, as if reading the magazine didn’t already accomplish that.

But as a professional writer and humorist, I’ve had too many instances of people in person and in print who work really really hard to prove that they are just as funny as me, even though I’ve never challenged them about it. Do people feel the need to show engineers that they know about torque and materials stress? Show dentists that they know how to administer Novocain?

It’s the whole “I crack everyone up at the board meetings — do you think I should try out as a stand-up comedian?” syndrome. If you have to ASK whether you should be a stand-up comedian, then you are sane, and ergo don’t have what it takes to be one. It’s the same with being a cartoonist. Someone is trying to make a living at it, while others are turning it into a parlor game. I feel bad for both sides.

Mostly, I fell bad reading those awful, awful puns.

January Lassitude

Freezing mornings. Long stretches of silence. Ice-covered streets. This is a time of year I love. It’s also the time of year I go a little stir-crazy in my basement and start to think that I’ve got to get some kind of job.

Teaching. Editing. Stacking shelves. Anything seems good. Anything that will get me out into the world and interacting with people. Anything where someone is expecting me to show up.

I know. It’s not like I live on a ranch in Manitoba. I’m not drinking at 10 and eying the shotgun. And it sounds a little snobby to say that I think I need a job to mingle. I realize I’m very fortunate to still be able to live off my earnings. I know most writers would kill to have the time I have to scribble. But there it is.

Except this year feels a little different. The yearning to show up and be needed someplace is a little less acute. The cause of this might be that I’m the househusband now, and I’m doing most of the cooking, washing and chauffeuring of offspring. I’ve got a part-time job to keep me busy, and the family needs me because I’m keeping things on an even keel for everyone. Without me, there’d be a lot more frozen dinners and general screaming about where to find clean underwear.

Maybe my mind is also finally used to the fact that I go through this every January. I’ll bug friends for contacts and make phone calls and almost seriously consider interviewing for a teaching job. But now I realize that my reasons for doing so are half-assed and temporary. When March comes around, I’ll feel less constrained and a little more alive.

Right now, I’m not so productive. The writing projects I’m in the midst of feel like long slogs with no real roadmap or purpose. Piles of bookkeeping and paperwork clutter up the office like carcasses that need to be disposed of (especially now that I’ve got my e-books up and I have to start acting like a PR person, accountant and publisher). And around early afternoon, I start to think like a domestic engineer and get my June Cleaver on.

But it doesn’t seem too bad this year. I’ve got a feeling productivity will come, if I just keep pushing, and in the end, I won’t have shortchanged anyone who would hire me with my distractable frame of mind and self-centered habits.

White Out: A Sidetrip to Starvation Lake

Earlier this fall, Bryan Gruley released the second book in his mystery series about a journalist in a small northern Michigan town. I liked the first title, Starvation Lake, very much, but like the second, The Hanging Tree, even more. Which is odd because the mechanics of the second mystery are a little less satisfying than the first. But the characters in The Hanging Tree were so deftly scripted, and their daily lives laid out with such believability, that I think the book is just terrific.

I’m not the only one, either. It was named one of the Michigan Notable Books of the Year, and listed as one of the Best Mysteries of the Year by Kirkus Reviews. There are probably a couple other accolades I’ve forgotten, but hey, call his publicist.

Bryan’s a friend of mine, so sure, I’m going to give his book a plug. But I also sincerely like these books. You don’t have to be a Michigander or a hockey fan to enjoy them (though it helps — I’m only one of those two). Bryan is a terrific storyteller with a deep personal affection for his characters and the lives they find themselves in, something that can’t be faked.

A couple months ago, I joked with Bryan about organizing excursions to Starvation Lake, Michigan, to show all the sites to the book’s fans. (Jon Berendt made this a sort of cottage industry with Savannah after writing Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.) Bryan scoffed at the idea, and made a self-deprecating comment about needing a few more readers.

But I personally wanted to see the fictional town of Starvation Lake. Somehow the descriptions in the second book challenged my assumptions and made it hard to visualize it further. The road is where? You can see THAT from HERE? Etc.

So over Christmas break on the way back from skiing up north, I took my family on a little side trip to the actual Starvation Lake. We got off US 131 in Mancelona, hoping to come at it from the north. Things were pretty snow covered up there. I don’t know how many of you live in places where there are official snowmobile paths laid crossing the highway, but there were plenty up there. We went about 5 miles, realized we missed the turnoff, turned around and went down a road that wasn’t exactly paved but had farmhouses on it. So, you know, civilization.

Well, it stayed snow covered, then it veered back west when we wanted to go south. So I forged ahead on what looked like a single-lane road, not uncommon in the country. It was pretty rutty and rocky. We passed another farmhouse or two as the trees got to be a little thicker. it was a guessing game which roads were more “official” and likely to coincide with the map. I saw some stop signs in the distance, which was comforting, but they weren’t standard size. Maybe the county was saving money on the back roads by putting up mini-signs? Some routes were very evidently for snow-mobiles, and some not so evidently.

found at Visitgaylord.comEveryone in the car but me was getting worried that we’d be sending Christmas Eve either stuck in the frost-bitten Michigan outback or in a hospital from an accident. I’ve been on slippier roads, but not recently and not sober. I turned east on what looked like a major road–by that I mean it was wide and had tracks on it and everything–and followed that winding path until we dead-ended at a small oil pump bobbing it’s head arthritically amid the snow and dried cattails.

Okay, at this point I was persuaded that maybe this Kit Carson route wasn’t the best way to go, so we tried to find our way back. I did a Y-turn at the oil pump and didn’t end up stuck. Chalk one up for 35 years of winter driving. Just before a fork in the road, we caught a glimpse of a half-dozen snowmobilers blasting through the snow about 20 yards away. I slowed and stopped and gave the right of way, as if we were both on the roads designated for us. I still resolutely denied that I was driving on a snowmobile trail. I was on the road for the oil trucks, y’betcha.

I found our way back to a road with a real name (I’m pretty good with directions), and we drove all the way back to Mancelona. But I absolutely had to see the place by now, even though it was eating into our time to return and get ready for Christmas Eve. We took another left eastward off 131 and plowed on for a few miles. The road was still snow covered, but in certain patches you could see that there was indeed a paved road under it. Such City Slickers, needing pavement! After a while, we saw the sign for a Starvation Lake supper Club (“Champs”? I don’t remember), and followed the signs. They advertised “The Best Hamburgers in the World”, and judging by the cars in the lot, they must’ve been cooking something right (unless everyone was already getting tanked up for the holiday). We were still full from the gigantic bismarcks and bearclaws we’d bought in Petoskey at the beginning of the trip home, so we didn’t stop at the bar. I drove around Starvation Lake, hoping to maybe see the Gruley name on a mailbox or garage, but it was not to be. I even looked for the “hanging tree” the book is named after, but without luck. That will have to wait for another trip.

Found at http://www.twoeyeballs.com/art/zenphoto/the-fifty-u/michigan.jpg.phpI knew there was no real town called Starvation Lake. Bryan has said he modeled the town after another nearby city. Just guessing on the map, I thought he meant nearby Twin Lake. Which is good. Starvation Lake has exactly two commercial buildings. Both taverns. Twin Lake has two taverns AND a provisions store.

Bryan must have been modeling the town after the nearby city of Mancelona. That place has brick buildings housing diners and insurance companies and hardware stores and the like. But it’s a little too big, and it sits alongside the US highway and not on the shore of a good-sized glacier-carved lake, so it can’t help in painting a mental image for me. (BTW, the actual Starvation Lake was absolutely gorgeous in the winter sunlight, sunk below the bluffs and curving subtly so it can’t all be seen from any one vantage point.) For now, it’s all in Bryan’s head, and I’ll just have to reread the books if I want a snapshot.

Photo of snowmobile trail from www.visitGaylord.com.

Linoleum print of Michigan, one of a 50-state series, found at Two Eyeballs.

Do I Sound More Suave in French?

Like I wrote in the post below, I was interviewed by the Swiss paper Le Temps about the whole bowdlerization-of-Huck-Finn dust-up going on. The reporter didn’t send me the PDF like she promised, so I went on the website this morning and found I’d said this:

Joint aux Etats-Unis, James Finn Garner, auteur du grinçant Politiquement correct: contes d’autrefois pour lecteurs d’aujourd’hui (traduit chez Grasset, 1995), se réjouit que la décision de la maison d’édition ait provoqué une telle polémique. «Il y a un vrai débat. Les gens en ont marre du politiquement correct. Et tout colorer en rose ne change pas le fait que l’Amérique reste un pays disloqué, inégal, encore très raciste.»

Hope I come off good. I think she’s quoting my most lurid comment, like that’s surprising or something. Here’s what Babelfish says I said:

Joint with the United States, Fine James Garner, author of squeaking Politically correct: tales of formerly for readers of today (translated at Grasset, 1995), is delighted that the decision of the publisher caused such a polemic. “There is a true debate. People have some enough of politically correct. And all to colour pink does not change yet the fact that America remains a dislocated country, unequal, very racist.”

Didn’t know my book was “squeaking”, but I’ll take it as a compliment.

Glad to See Twain Can Still Rile ’em Up

Just got off the phone with a journalist from Le Temps, which is a big daily newspaper in Switzerland. She wanted my opinion on the bowdlerization of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which has dominated the news cycle during this slow week. I’m Mr. Politically Correct, after all, so I was flattered to be remembered and asked my opinion. At least her call forced me to think a little about the plan and my reactions to it.

Of course, substituting “Slave” for “nigger” in Huck Finn is ridiculous, but like many a ridiculous plan, someone is going to try it. The professor who is editing the volume says it’s intended for the teachers who want to use it in the classroom but are worried about lawsuits. I’m sympathetic to the teachers’ potential issues, but I have a suspicion that some people want the book to be a rollicking adventure story suitable for preteens, rather than the complex and often painful book it is. It’s not a book about a cracking fun raft ride, it’s about a young orphan’s moral growth and rejection of basically everything around him.

And Mark Twain is not our more literary version of Will Rogers. Just imagine the world of American letters without him, how arid and provincial and easily manageable the remaining writers would seem. We NEED the difficult, ornery, contradictory and flawed writer that Mark Twain was, because the era in which he grew up gave us a lot to be ashamed about. A lot that we need to remember.

Twain was a stickler for language, and he had the chance often in his life to change the offending word to something else. But nothing else had or still has the punch, the sting, the stink of human hate. “Nigger” is nowhere near the equivalent of “slave” (even though someone in the NYT asked why “slave” should be considered inoffensive in its own right). Nowhere near the dehumanization, the belittling, the oppression and pain. Was America built on the backs of slaves? Yep, right up til 1865. Was it built on the backs of niggers? Even more so, from sea to shining sea, and continues to this day. And, (not to diminish what black Americans have suffered) they come in many colors.

But I don’t think this new edition will gain any traction at all. For one thing, it’s still easy to pick up Huck Finn and enjoy it, so the original version will always attract readers who want to see what all the fuss is about. It’s not a fusty old cadaver of a book, it’s maddeningly alive. And until something else comes along, like Hemingway wrote, all American literature flows from it. I tried to explain this to the Swiss journalist, but probably didn’t do it adequately. For every person who might want to change the text, there are 50,000 of them who want to preserve it. (Now, if he’d made fun of religion or capitalism in it, like he did in his other lesser-known books, it might be a different story.)

It was gratifying to hear the reporter (who sounded kind of young, maybe in her 30s) talk about how people all over Europe and the rest of the world take a great deal of interest in American culture, and the perception that if America is anything, it’s a place where freedom of speech is a paramount virtue. She stumbled a bit when she almost said, “But America is still a racist country, right?” I agreed with her partially, that some parts (not just geographical) of the country will always be racist, but more to the point, it will always be an unequal society, which is why we can’t sanitize writers like Twain.

What’s more likely to diminish racism in America, editing out one word from a novel, or having people read the novel and be confronted all its pain and cruelty? The answer is obvious.

At least all this news coverage has unearthed a Twain quote I’d never heard before, which I really like: “Censorship is telling a man he can’t have a steak just because a baby can’t chew it.”

Free Stories for Christmas!

Some readers out there might know that every Christmas for the past 20 years or so, I have attempted to write some kind of Yule-themed story for my wife. The first story I ever had published, entitled “Jerry’s Last Fare” in the late Chicago Tribune Magazine, was also the first I ever wrote as a gift to my wife. For better or worse, I took it as an omen.

Since then, there has been a veritable Whitman’s Sampler of stories, some funny, some frightening, some strange. And since my wife is the understanding sort, she always accepts them enthusiastically, even when it’s obvious from the writing that my muse has been snowed in at Denver Airport.

Some of these stories you’ll never see, and you’re lucky for that, but a few of them aren’t bad. In fact, three of them have been set up as separate pages for this blog. It’s hard to notice the links to them at the right, so I thought I’d pull them out here:

“Mr. Dickens Buys a Comb”–in which our hero, Victorian in taste if not in time, has to navigate the perils of a megastore at Christmas to buy himself an article of personal hygiene.

“Chex Mix Confidential”–What is it about Chex mix? Why is it so impossibly addictive? Why do people get in heated arguments about the correct way to make it? This bare-knuckle police procedural blows the lid off the whole enterprise.

“The Marketeers at Christmas”–in which two nameless, shameless, witless advertising men spitball ideas about how to link Christmas with a corn-borer pesticide.

Please enjoy these little presents, and pass them forward if you do to anyone who would like them.

Delays for “Rex Koko, Private Clown”

For those fans out there who’ve heard me mention that Rex Koko’s new adventure, Honk Honk, My Darling, would be available soon, I apologize. The chapters that I included in the Kindle editions of my other books might just be have to remain excruciating teasers for the time being.

I’m waiting on the cover art for Honk Honk, and have been for several weeks. What complicates this is that none of the e-book distributors will carry a book that doesn’t have a cover. So, I could slap up a piece of junk and try to pull in some sales, or I could wait until I get the hella-cool cover that I’ve commissioned and which everyone will go ape over. For better or worse, I’ve chosen the latter route.

The new, whizbang Rex Koko website should be up before Christmas, in some shape or form, so readers will be able to catch up on the latest news there. In the meantime, everyone will just have to sit and wait. When a writer is late with his copy, you can motivate him by screaming at him abusively until he cranks out the desired verbiage. Apparently, this tactic does not work on artists, but I have yet to figure out what does. I’m open to suggestions.

E-Books Aren’t for Writers with OCD

It took me a while to get my e-books up on the system at Amazon, and then at Smashwords. It wasn’t that it was so all-fired complicated to do, although it took a few uploads before the layout and everything was to my satisfaction. It was easy enough to format for Kindle: All I had to do was convert it to an HTML document, and then follow their detailed instructions. Smashwords, which converts the books to the formats for Sony, Nook, iPad, and smart phones, as well as for their own sale, took a little more finessing with Word, but it was easy once I got the hang of it.

No, the big problem of launching manuscripts into electronic format is keeping your hands off the copy while you go over it. As Paul Valery (or DaVinci, or Truman Capote, or someone else, according to my extensive web research) once said, “A poem is never finished, only abandoned.” Well, with e-books, that doesn’t have to be the case now! A writer can upload revisions to his or her ebook continually. The tweaking could be endless!

I’m lucky. I had a little guideline I could follow. Since these were ebooks of volumes that had already been released, changing much copy would put me in danger of creating a book that people wouldn’t recognize when they bought it. I could have updated some references from 15 years ago (When writing the original, I thought it was funny to make Scrooge aware of the passage of time by his buzzing alarm-wristwatch. Wow, very Dick Tracy! How was I to know that I should’ve made it his cell phone? I’m not a visionary like Steve Jobs). But most of the cultural references were still valid. I don’t think I mentioned anything that screamed “Clinton Era” too much. No talk of tech bubbles or “Celestine Prophecy”.

Worse, it was sorely tempting to heavily edit some of the stories in Once Upon a More Enlightened Time. They tend to ramble on, I think, and become shaggy dog stories. Because they had been read on stage, most of the stories in Politically Correct Bedtime Stories were shorter, punchier, and clearer in what they were making fun of. But If I had begun to edit the stories to any great extent, the e-book would probably never have made it in front of the public.

So, for better or for worse, the books in the Politically Correct Storybook are almost exactly as they were when they were published in 1994-5. I was tempted to insert a new introduction for one or all of them, but then what would I do with the original introductions, which I think are pretty funny and set the tone for the books almost perfectly? Can you insert an older introduction into an addendum? Is it still an introduction if you do that? To keep things from getting messy, I chose to keep things just as they had been. Whether the books are museum pieces or still have something to say to people, is the decision of the reader.

Of course, I still had problems tinkering with the new stories and poems I was inserting in these volumes. I even had to break out the OCR software to scan my first ever published story, “Jerry’s Last Fare”, which was published in the Chicago Tribune Magazine in 1989. No electronic version of that one, obviously. There were certainly a few lines in that chestnut I would change, but cripes, there comes a time when a guy has to abandon some things, right? I figure the reader will be forgiving.

New E-Books for Politically Correct Bedtime Stories!

The time has come to announce that my first three bestselling books — long out of print in America — are now alive again. I have done it. I have brought the dead back to life, with the help of the newest technology.

Politically Correct Bedtime Stories, Once Upon a More Enlightened Time, and Politically Correct Holiday Stories are now all available as e-books, for all you e-literate readers out there. (All you illiterate readers out there will have to content themselves with the Twilight books.)

Kindle, Kobo, Nook, IPad, mobi — however you like reading a book that’s not made of a dead tree — they’re all available. You can even buy them as pdf’s to read on your regular old computer (the free apps, Kindle for PC and Kindle for Mac, also make this possible).

And to sweeten the pot, especially for those fans who already have the hardback editions, each volume contains extra material, most of it never before seen.

To wit:

PC Bedtime Stories: the rewritten rhymes of “A Child’s Garden of Political Correctness”; the story “A Royal Revenge,” commissioned by the BBC; and the long-awaited “The Duckling That Was Judged on Its Persunal Merits and Not on Its Physical Appearance”

Once Upon: A full-length PC novella of the adventures of Pinocchio!

PC Holiday Stories: the hardscrabble story of Santa’s poor Irish childhood, “Santa’s Ashes”, written with A.J. Jacobs (The Know-It-All); and my first published story, the Christmas tale “Jerry’s Last Fare”.

Each book also contains a free chapter of the upcoming Rex Koko debut novel, Honk Honk, My Darling. Yes, fans of clown noir and pantaloon pulp, Rex Koko’s first adventure will soon be available in e-book versions. Later, I’ll also have a paperback version and an audio podcast of Honk Honk available. The only thing holding it up is that I’m waiting for the cover art. A complete Rex Koko webpage is being forged as you read this. Yes, it’s Christmas in December. Well, Christmas in EARLY December. Yahoo!

Click here to order the Kindle editions from Amazon. (You know, you don’t need a real Kindle to buy these, right? You can download the free apps Kindle for PC or Kindle for Macs, and enjoy them on your home computer. You can also read them on your phone.)

Click here to order them from iTunes. (coming soon 12/2/10 — ISBN updates processing)

Click here to order the Nook edition from Barnes & Noble. (coming soon 12/2/10 — ditto)

Click here to order them from Smashwords (all the pdfs and epubs you’d ever want).

Printers Row Lit Fest Highlights

This year’s Lit Fest down in Chicago’s Printers Row was a little smaller than last year, as far as the number of exhibitors goes. The booths going up Dearborn Street did not stretch past Harrison Street, as they have in years past. And some of the booth space that did exist was taken up by an Acura dealer, a furniture maker, and a huge traveling exhibit that the Tribune trots out from the McCormick Freedom Foundation. I think the recession made it hard for bookstores to come a long way to exhibit there.

The Lit Fest is at a crossroads, I think, as many of these kinds of events are. I’m very grateful the Tribune sponsors so much of the festival, without a doubt, but is it mainly a used book fair, with a few panels and readings sprinkled in? Is it a place for writers to connect with readers, or to explore where publishing is headed? Is it always going to compete with the Chicago Blues Festival, and always take place in the rain? How does it complement or compete with Columbia College’s Story Week and the Chicago Humanities Festival? Time will tell. The name of the event was changed from “Book Fair” last year, to broaden everyone’s perception of what’s going on, and I hope it doesn’t pass away with the shrinking of the traditional publishing paradigm.

I was a participant in two events (pretty soon people are going to wonder when I’m actually going to publish something new, or whether I’m now a washed up eminence grise at 49). The first was the panel “Cubbie Blues,” with my friends from that compilation of 2008 (left to right in the photo) Rick Kaempfer, Donald Evans and Robert Goldsborough. Our main topic, within the context of why the Chicago Cubs still and always suck, was why baseball is the most literate of professional sports. We talked about baseball as a conduit for memoir (Cardboard Gods, which I just finished, is a great example of that), literature (ditto The Man with Two Arms by Billy Lombardo), and poetry. My conclusion, which no one bothered to refute, was that baseball had a monopoly on the public imagination for 60 years, until the advent of television, and baseball has so much down time, even during a game, that it allows reflection, and that allows for better writing. And the Cubs are an evergreen topic because, well, they are just so multifaceted in their losing. The stories seemingly never end.

I also sat in for part of a discussion of Get Capone with the author, Jonathan Eig, and Trib writer and WGN radio host Rick Kogan. As usual, it was riveting stuff, and Rick is probably the best interviewer in town. A mysterious transformation came over Jon, however, when during the interview he felt himself transformed into a figure from a Red Chinese propaganda poster, looking across the bountiful harvest toward a glorious future. Rick, of course, was nonplussed by this. Who wouldn’t be?

I spent the remainder of Saturday shopping, although I did take in the panel discussing mysteries and graphic novels. Some of the results of my shopping are below.

On Sunday, I had the privilege of being one of the judges at the first National Story Slam Competition, held at the Harold Washington Library. It was a terrific time. My friend Bill Hillmann has been running the Windy City Story Slam for almost three years, while at the same time other slam-type storytelling events have cropped up nationwide. So Bill managed to bring 9 champions from Oregon, Baltimore, South Carolina, Boston, and other places to compete. The winner, Nancy Donoval from Minneapolis, wove a captivating narrative about bone spurs, unicorns and regaining her virginity by proclamation by a friend (after it had been taken by force years before) that had heart, great narrative structure, humor and pain in wonderful amounts. She scored a 49.5 out of 50, so it was darn near perfect. You can read bios of all the competitors at the Story Slam website here. Nancy won the first belt from the judges, a huge gold girdle like a boxing champ can win. A second belt, given to the performer with the highest applause from the audience, was taken in a very very close competition by Chicago’s champ, Alex Bonner. The crowd of more than 200 were loud and appreciative. I’m really excited to check out more slams in the future.

So, shopping at the Lit Fest wasn’t too exciting this year. I think I was in a cheapskate frame of mind. I did buy a hardback copy of U of C Press’ The Chicagoan, but luckily it was marked down to half-price. The only other things I dived for were a few dusty paperbacks, to add to a ragtag collection I’ve somehow gotten of these titles over the years. First, I found a couple paperbacks from the “Get Smart” series, as shown below. This brings my collection of these up to five out of nine (I think). I passed on paperbacks of Chips, Man from U.N.C.L.E. and the Bobby Sherman Show.

Then, at my last stop on Sunday, I found a couple of old Dell Mysteries from the 1940s, the cool ones with the “Crime Map” on the back cover. These are pretty collectible, I guess, but I don’t want to get into all that stuff. I buy them if they amuse me, but how could anything printed with a “Crime Map” fail to amuse? I also liked the name of one of the authors, Zelda Popkin. It’s almost the same as Hellzapoppin’. Maybe she’s got a sister.